


Mechanical Pierrot

by enmity



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: HeartGold & SoulSilver | Pokemon HeartGold & SoulSilver Versions
Genre: F/M, Rocket Hideout, i wrote this in 1 go rip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 10:42:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14714534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enmity/pseuds/enmity
Summary: It isn’t until he takes a step forward and spares a thoughtless glance over his shoulder that it occurs to Lance that it might be a tad irresponsible of him to run ahead and leave a little girl like her to traverse the Rocket Hideout all by herself.





	Mechanical Pierrot

It isn’t until he takes a step forward and spares a thoughtless glance over his shoulder that it occurs to Lance that it might be a tad irresponsible of him to run ahead and leave a little girl like her to traverse the Rocket Hideout all by herself.

Sure, he’s seen the way Lyra battled, how she braved the odds and managed to tame the red gyarados as the rain poured around her and the lake rippled and splashed violently against the lapras she held onto – courageously, without hesitation – and he wasn’t lying when he told her it was a battle that took his breath away.

But looking at her now, clutching at her bag and lit by one of the few light bulbs in the hallway, he can’t help but feel as though the talented young trainer that stole away his attention at the Lake of Rage has slipped away from his sight, replaced by – no, it’s perhaps more accurate to say her age has become far more apparent to him upon a closer glance: her small face and minute proportions and the starker brown of her round, wide eyes under the harsh light all giving away the innate naivety and inexperience one can only shed with age, despite her rather convincing attempt to show otherwise. Had he never looked back, he might never have thought to doubt her steady posture or her assertive voice or her gaze that belied fear and remind himself that despite all, she’s a child still.

Lance shakes his head. What was he thinking, really; just because there’s a precedent for prodigiously talented young trainers going off defeating criminals and dethroning champions as though out of whim, doesn’t mean he can go and leave her on her own with the expectation that she might be the third kid to blow him away with their skill. And even if she is … well, that doesn’t make it okay. His conscience won’t allow it. At least, not after noticing how surprisingly narrow her shoulders are, or the flush on her cheeks that must’ve been the fault of her being ambushed by one Rocket after another.

He simply cannot let someone get hurt under his watch, that’s all.

“Is something wrong, um, Mr. Lance?” Lyra says, his name sounding rather charmingly awkward out of her mouth. “If you’re concerned about my pokémon… they’re perfectly healthy, thanks to the medicine you gave them.” She bows slightly as though out of lack of anything else; her knees knock against one another as she lifts her gaze again. “Thank you again!”

“No need for the honorific. I don’t look that old, do I?” He laughs. “And there’s no need for thanks, either – I was simply lending a little help.”

The pink color on her face darkens, and suddenly she sticks a tongue out at him, a fist clenching at her shirt uneasily. “Hey, you’re wearing a cape! Not my fault you’re dressed like someone who looks like he wants to be called Mister.”

“Fair enough,” he says, though he doesn’t understand entirely what that means. Not the first time his taste in clothing has been questioned. His mouth eases into a smile. “This place is pretty big – you’re sure you want me to go ahead?”

“I-I’m not a kid,” Lyra says, expression tightening. “I fought all those grunts perfectly well on my own! And I don’t want to hold you back,” she adds.

“So you’re not scared? Don’t worry about such things; you can rely on me a little, you know,” he adds when she doesn’t reply straightaway, worrying her bottom lip instead.

“No, of course not,” she insists, giving a defiant smile. But he’s more perceptive than she thinks, and he doesn’t miss the slight tremor of her shoulders, the nervous half-second of silence before she says _of course_ ; he’d been a kid once too, bursting with potential, eager to see the world, eager for him and his dratini to show up the grownups around him. That’d gotten him in his fair share of predicaments in the past. “But that sounded kind of cool. If I didn’t know better I’d think I was falling in love! You sure you don’t say that to all the girls, _Lance_?”

It’s his turn to blush hearing those unexpectedly brazen words coming from her. He hopes she doesn’t see it in the dim and behind his collar.

“That’s a secret.” He doesn’t, in fact, say it to all the girls.

“That’s boring,” she says in turn.

So she walks alongside him, navigating through the corridors and easily stomping through every grunt in their way. It surprises him the first instance she reaches to grab his arm, bristling perhaps at the fear of tripping yet another security measure, or something worse; her act of plucky confidence slips as she looks up at him, face pinker than before, abruptly pulling away, and he finds himself fixating on the curiosity of her widening eyes and trembling mouth for a second longer than he would have liked.

Behind her, her ampharos peers curiously.

“S-Sorry! I thought I saw something back there.”

He tells himself he’s only being kind when he replies smoothly, “It’s okay, Lyra, I didn’t mind,” that it’s only the nice thing to say to a shivering girl on a mission he’d roped her into to rescue some magikarp. He adds, after a second, “You’re not gonna ask how many girls I’ve told _that_ to?” None, obviously, but she started it first.

“I don’t think I want to know,” she huffs, but then laughs despite herself. She dashes half a step ahead of him before slowing again, “It’d kind of suck, won’t it, if the prince charming I met at the Lake of Rage turned out to be a run-of-the-mill womanizer? Wouldn’t that be a damper on my fairytale!”

Lance looks at her. She chuckles, looks away. “Oh, so I’m a prince now?”

“Who knows. You certainly dress like one.”

She battles with grace, unfaltering certainty and trust evident in every command she gives her pokémon. It’s not like he didn’t know that already, but fighting against the grunt and Ariana with her by his side – this time it really sinks that she had no reason to be afraid. The only thing getting in her way must have been nerves or a simple fear of the dark, or something else as forgivably childish. Things she would soon enough outgrow in her path to become a great trainer.

He allows himself to place a hand on her shoulder, after. “Thank you for your help,” he says, watching her tuck the HM disc into a pocket of her bag and spray medicine on her pidgeot’s wings. “I do hope we’ll meet again, Lyra.”

“Really?” Her face scrunches up, “Why leave it up to chance? You could’ve said you wanted my number.” She must’ve seen the odd face he was making, because then she adds, that faint red tint returning to her cheeks, “You know, for a battle! You were a pretty strong trainer yourself, you know.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Lance says, decisively terse. He hasn’t told her anything about being Champion – to her, he’s another trainer, someone else who happens to feel passionately enough about Team Rocket’s shenanigans to do _something_ about it; another face she doubts she’ll ever see again. "I... have my reasons."

For a second, her expression falters.

“I’ll tell you what. You’re doing the gym challenge, aren’t you?” He smiles reassuringly at her. “If you promise me you’ll finish the challenge, I’ll make a promise of my own. A promise that we’ll see each other again.”

There’s a sparkle of excitement in her eye he hadn’t noticed before. She turns away, returns to tending to her pidgeot. “You sound awfully sure. You’re sure you’re not only saying that to make me feel better?”

“I might be,” he lies. “But wouldn’t you like to find out?”

He departs in a flash, before she has the chance to get her word in; this time he doesn’t spare a glance behind his shoulder, because he thinks that if he does, if he looks at that pretty face of hers and commits it to memory, perhaps he would find himself wishing that he’d meant it when he implied he’d lied when he said they would meet again – it would make it easier, he thinks, to forget about her smile and bobbing pigtails and the rush of excitement of battling with her if he wouldn’t be spending the moments at his throne at the plateau wondering if she would come bursting through the doors at any moment, demanding to challenge herself the title of Champion.

Lance tells himself he certainly isn’t hoping; at least not for a reason as outlandish as the way he feels his heart racing as he summons his dragonite and commands it to carry him back to Indigo Plateau.

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: someone brought into my attention that the way this story is written comes across as creepy. I've decided against editing it, but I would like to put here that any instances which can be read as creepy/questionable was not unintentional on my part. My next attempt at writing this ship will likely not opt to go this route again. Nevertheless, please feel free to interpret this fanfic however you wish.


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